


Tangled Up

by NiciJones



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Berlin during the Cold War, Dating, Gaby is smart and beautiful, I did my best, Idiots, M/M, This Means War AU, historically inaccurate shit, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiciJones/pseuds/NiciJones
Summary: Prompt from the UNCLE Winter Gift Exchange:In the movie This Means War, two spies meet the same girl separately. When they find out they like the same woman, unknown to her, they try to win her affection by tripping up the other one.I want this with Napoleon and Illya fighting over Gaby (who I picture as spy mistaken for a civilian and knows who these boys are and kind of just plays along, but you can have her as just a civilian). BUT they end up falling for each other in the process. And it turns Gaby wasn't interested anyway. I'd prefer them getting together not to be Gaby's plan. No OT3, please.





	Tangled Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenshincha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenshincha/gifts).



> This was super fun to write and I hope you enjoy it and I fulfilled my prompt accurately. :D

(I.)  
Napoleon saw her when he was on a mission in East Berlin. When she had passed he was not quite sure what had caught his attention in the first place. She wasn’t wearing anything too colourful compared to the others neither did she wear any heavy jewelry that would have piqued the interest of the thief. It was just something about the way she moved although she simply walked down the road.  
Still, Napoleon stopped and turned to look after her. After a moment of hesitation he shot a look at his watch before turning and going after her. He caught her at the next crossing where they had to wait to let a lorry pass.  
“Beautiful dress.” He commented with his trademark charming smile.  
“Thank you.” She replied politely but not with too much enthusiasm.   
Napoleon frowned for a moment. Apparently, he had to up his games a little. “Where are you going on this beautiful day?”  
“To work.” The lorry had passed and they both set into motion.   
Napoleon followed swiftly at her side. Usually he would back off by now. She clearly wasn’t interested. He contemplated it but now that he had gone after her he did want a little reward at least.  
Suddenly she stopped and took a turn into a backyard. “What about you, American?” She unlocked a rusty looking door to a carshop.  
“Oh business. This and that. I like to mix pleasure in where I can.” He remarked slyly.   
“Oi, Sir, this is a respected establishment.” She made clear but didn’t kick him out when he followed her inside.  
Napoleon let out a low whistle when he saw the amount of cars. “I’m impressed.” He admitted.  
“You should be.” She called out from where she had vanished into a small room at the side of the garage.  
Curiously he peeked in and caught a look of her in underwear.   
“Hey, turn around and let a woman change in peace.” She commanded and he complied. Aside from one or two glances maybe.  
“You are insufferable.” She huffed and pushed past him now wearing dungarees.   
“And you are beautiful and yet so lonely amidst all those cars. Can they make you happy?” He asked and stroked over the body of a 1962 Ford Galaxie 500. He wondered where she got them from and what she does with them seeing as you could hardly drive them around.  
“Oh believe me, they do.” The woman said and Napoleon can hear the slight grin in her voice. Well, others had jewellery she had cars.   
“But can they make you as happy as I could?” He asked and leaned against the car whose engine she was currently scrutinising.  
She paused and then actually walked over to him stepping right up into his space. Napoleon felt certain of success when she stroked down the front of his expensive suit. “You know, what would make me really happy?” She didn’t wait for one of his cockish remarks although he had already set a hand on her hip. “A Shelby AC Cobra.” She whispered close to his face.  
Napoleon froze. A car? He knew that the only appropriate answer of him was to promise her to get the desired object. He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” He said. Probably he would not consider it again when he had escaped the aura of this strange woman.   
“Put some effort into it.” She winked and brushed her lips just at the corner of his mouth. 

When Napoleon was back in West Berlin he cursed himself and his desire, addiction maybe, to have beautiful things. He looked around the dark street and hopped into the car. Convertibles had their advantages. For thieves at least. It was most likely the only AC Cobra in whole West Berlin. Didn’t look too great with getting it across but he counted on tired guards and no one knowing quite whose car that was. Besides, didn’t he love a challenge?   
He managed to start the engine without that much of a hassle and off he went. He knew that Sanders wouldn’t be pleased that he was spending time on off-assignment activities again. The old man could go fuck himself.  
The car was damn fast and Napoleon had a hard time staying in control. He was almost glad when he arrived at the border control and could hand over the faked papers. He had to call in a couple of favours and he really hoped it will be worth it.  
The guards were envious of the car, of course, but had to let him pass. 

He pulled up in the backyard and unlocked the door to the garage to tuck the car safely away. He was almost tempted to strip and drape himself across the hood but he had no idea when Gaby would show up and he strangely wasn’t keen on getting pneumonia. So he settled fully clothed on the hood and opened the book he’d smuggled unbeknownst to the border patrol. Bring a little capitalism into the red east every day, he thought with amusement. Sanders would probably like that.

Around seven the door opened and a frowning woman appeared. She was apparently worried about the door being unlocked but when she looked up and spotted Napoleon on the Shelby her eyes lid up.  
“Surprise!” Napoleon said with a bright smile and threw the book at the next pile of junk.  
“Wow! Beautiful! Absolutely gorgeous!” She gasped and came closer.  
“Thank you. I get that a lot.” Napoleon mocked a bit bitter that again the car was more important than himself.  
She didn’t mind him and lovingly stroked the hood. “Get off there, you lowbrow!” She chided him.  
“Thank you, Napoleon for risking your life and pulling in several favours that could have saved my life under different circumstances. No problem. And no, of course, I don’t mind that you haven’t even told me your name yet.” He mocked as he slid from the car.  
The woman huffed. “Fine. It’s Gaby Teller. I will meet you for a date tonight if you want to?” She suggested.  
“I brought this damn fire engine across one of the most guarded borders in the world right now. Yes, a date for that would be lovely.” Napoleon sighed.  
“Do you ever shut up?” Gaby huffed annoyed and pecked a kiss to his mouth. When he chased after her lips she pushed him away. “Be decent, Sir. I’ll see you at six here.” She winked before turning back to the car, Napoleon forgotten.

Napoleon did actually do his work during the day meeting up with the contacts he was supposed to meet and some that fell more into the category of old acquaintances.   
He was more than happy to see it is close to six and he could go back and meet Gaby. She had changed for him and looked absolutely stunning. Napoleon wanted to sleep with her in the Shelby.   
Later maybe. For now he took her arm and went into a restaurant. Compared to the restaurants in the West it was like he had stepped into another world. But Gaby’s smile and her unique way of flirting brightened it all up.

(II.)  
Illya’s car broke down in Berlin and he was grateful that there was a garage nearby. He cursed loudly and kicked the wheel but then he made his way down the street and followed the sign that said “Reparaturwerkstatt Teller”.  
“Hello?” He called out and looked around. There were quite a few cars but most were hidden in the dark and Illya’s instincts were telling him something was off about the shop.   
“Hello? Can Ihelp you?” A woman appeared wiping her hands on a cloth.  
“Hello. My car broke down at the end of street. I thought, you could help me?” Illya asked. Instantly he had let his shoulders slump and hunched down a little. He knew that the citizens of East Germany were wary of the Russians for they had plundered and raped after taking over Berlin. Then they had told him never to see their relatives again and accept their worldview as the only true one. His height and stature often enough didn’t help. However, the woman didn’t seem scared at all. She just shrugged. “Sure, I can take a look at it.” She took a toolbox and followed him.  
It irritated Illya. Her blunt ways and direct way. She rattled off an explanation about what was wrong with his car and Illya tried to keep up. He only had elementary knowledge about cars. Whenever he was in the West he missed the independence of women in the East.  
“Can you fix it?” He asked when she was done.  
“What do I look like?” She asked with a scowl on her face and crossed her arms in front of her chest.  
Illya shifted. “Was simple question, no?” He ventured on wondering what would get him answers from her.  
“Was mine too complicated for you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Look, I didn’t just make up all those words although you only understood half of it. Sure, I can fix it but it will take me a day or two.”   
Illya nodded. “Alright. Sounds good.” He would have to call in Oleg and tell him he decided to check a suspect in Berlin. It happened, it was his job. Unless something urgent turned up, Oleg would trust his instincts.  
“Do you have a place to stay?” She asked and closed the hood of the car.  
Illya frowned. “No. Surprisingly, I didn’t plan for car to break down.”  
The woman gave him an exasperated look. “Come on, smartass. The car needs to go into the garage. You push, I steer.” She pried the keys from his fingers and sat on the driver’s seat.

“What’s your name?” She asked when they had parked the car safely in a spot in her garage.   
“Why do you want to know?” He replied coldly.  
“Because I only let man sleep on my couch who I at least know the name of.” She deadpanned.  
Illya gaped. “Surely, there is no need…”  
“Please, do you want to find a hotel room now?” She made a gesture to the door. “I’m sure you know the way. Or rather will have to find one.” Her stare pinned him down. Although, she was about two heads shorter than him she had no problem to intimidate him.  
“Illya. Illya Kuryakin.” He answered after another pause.  
“Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” She asked and smiled. “Gaby Teller. It’s a pleasure Illya. I will introduce you to my couch soon enough.” 

She made dinner and Illya ate out of politeness and hunger. When she offered him a drink he declined. She shrugged and drank by herself. He went to bed early feeling uncomfortable. He could hear her talking on the phone for awhile but fell asleep in the end and only woke when she tiptoed through the living room to go to bed herself.

He woke the next day to the smell of coffee. She told him she had to work on his car and he was welcome to stay or go.  
Illya contacted Oleg and he told him to run an errand for him while he was there. Of course, the errand was a trap and he ended up getting beaten up (not without giving back twice the punches) and came home bloody.  
Gaby was shocked when she saw him and fussed over him. Illya mumbled something about getting into a fist fight at a bar and Gaby led him up to her kitchen and cleaned the wounds while calling him out for being so stupid.   
When she dipped the cloth into the warm water he noticed that her hand was shaking and took it gently into his. “You are trembling.” He said confused.  
“Don’t do stupid things like this under my watch. You know what a hassle it would be if you broke down dead at my door?!” She fussed but he didn’t believe her. She was worried.  
Illya smiled. “Don’t worry. You should see the others.” They were dead, so considerably worse than Illya.  
Gaby smiled. “Idiot.”

After the incident their relationship and interactions were considerably warmer. Gaby tried to convince him to go dancing with her but he ended up standing at the side and looking large and awkward. Other people were suspicious of him as soon as he opened his mouth and at the end of the night they went home together. Gaby tipsy and Illya guarding her, always with a hand hovering around her shoulder or on the small of her back.  
He had to unlock the door for her when they had reached the flat. She was as good as asleep and Illya was highly embarrassed about having to tuck her in. He didn’t want to violate her in any way. Therefore, he only took her shoes off before discreetly leaving her room. Just before he could leave she grabbed his hand for a moment. He looked down at her relaxed features and a surge of affection went through him.

(III.)  
Everything was perfect until the next morning the doorbell rang and Illya opened the door. He looked down at a sleek man screaming capitalist American with every inch of his body. The pristine suit, the styled hair and goddamn, this radiant but all fake smile which made Illya’s fingers twitch right away.  
“What do you want?” He growled, expression darkened.  
“Oh, well I am Napoleon Solo. I am sure Gaby has told you about me if you live together. Who are you? Her brother? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wanted to take Gaby out for breakfast. I am sure you don’t mind.”  
God, did this man ever stop talking? “I do.” Illya replied curtly.  
“Excuse me?” The man blinked seemingly wondering whether he was being serious.  
“You heard me.” He said.  
“Illya? Who’s at the door?” Gaby called out and pushed past him. When she discovered Napoleon she smiled. “Napoleon. What are you doing here?”  
“I wanted to take you out for breakfast. But your bodyguard here seems to be against it.” Napoleon raised an eyebrow pointedly.  
“I’ll be back for lunch, Illya.” She promised.  
“Can’t he cook?” Napoleon asked with apparent distaste in his voice.  
“I can cook just fine.” Illya narrowed his eyes at him.   
“She loved my crème brûlée.” Napoleon bragged. “Didn’t you?” He turned to Gaby.   
She nodded. “It was fantastic.”  
Napoleon shot one last pointed look at Illya before turning to where Gaby was waiting for him already.  
“Be back on time!” Illya called out driven by determination. “I will cook lunch.”  
As soon as the door was shut Illya stormed off to collect all recipe books he could find in Gaby’s flat. 

Gaby and Napoleon left the backyard and Napoleon casually led her down the street.   
“So… who was that?” Napoleon asked and turned to look at Gaby to catch her face.  
“That was Illya.” Gaby smiled.  
Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “Just Illya?”   
Gaby sighed. “Yes, just Illya. His car broke down and I’m fixing it.”  
“And you are taking your time with it.” It wasn’t a question.  
Gaby rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to answer but then hesitated. She looked away.  
Napoleon frowned. This wasn’t like her.  
“He’s a Russian.” She said like it explained things.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I am from East Germany.” She looked around for a moment and stopped. “Look, they say Russia is our big brother. But not in the way big brothers can be protective and super cool. More in the way big brothers can be oppressing and authoritative. Maybe even abusing.” She said in a hushed voice but with a stress that convinced Napoleon she meant every word.  
It made sense. Very few of the East Germans loved the Russians or what they have done to their country. The fear of the Stasi at all time and the propaganda education didn’t help. “Are you afraid?” He asked honestly concerned.  
“No, no.” Gaby started walking again. Her tone lightened. “Illya is incredibly soft although he may not look like it. He has that cute frown on his face when he tries something that doesn’t work like he wants. And he huffs with such exasperated fondness when he’s frustrated with me.” She chuckled. “No, really. He’s completely harmless. Even if not I am sure I could take him on.” She winked at Napoleon.  
He forced a smile on his face but still tried to digest what Gaby has just told him. So since the last time they met Gaby had let this Russian move into her flat and they get along splendidly even it wasn’t for the fact that he is Russian, there would probably be even more… He didn’t know how to feel about this. After Gaby had not let him fuck her in the Selby at the end of their date night but instead it was just that- a date night. However, now he knew that a simple breakfast wouldn’t be enough to stand out. He will have to cook himself. It would need some improvisation but Napoleon was nothing if not good at improvising.

Gaby did return half past twelve. Illya had went through two major crises, destroyed two pans and four spoons (he tried to bend those back as best as possible). He also had ruined one of his sweaters before he had found Gaby’s apron in a dusty cabinet. In the end… he had made noodles with sausage and onion. It wasn’t exactly a crème brûlée but- it was something! It was made with love at least.  
Illya opened the door to Gaby who had a broad smile on her face. She kicked her shoes off before sniffing the air suspiciously.   
“You made lunch.” She said turning to look at him with surprise.  
Illya huffed. “Said so, didn’t I?”   
Gaby moved to go into the kitchen but was stopped by Illya. “Wait. Close your eyes.” He said and she raised her eyebrows but did as she was told. Illya took her hands and slowly guided her into the small and sparsely furnitured kitchen.   
He had put the food on plates already and filled soda which he had dug up in two glasses.  
“Alright.” He said shyly. “You can look now.”  
Gaby blinked her eyes open and after a moment took in the table. “Ohh Illya.” She said and it sounded like something between pity and fond exasperation.  
“I cooked lunch all by myself.” He said and pulled the chair back so she could sit.  
“That’s- that’s so nice of you, Illya.” She said and stared down at the food.  
“Don’t you like it?” He asked hastily. He knew he should’ve made something else!   
“No, no, it’s fine.” She promised and took her fork. “I eat that every weekend.”  
Illya cringed inwardly so he decided to change the topic. “So, how was breakfast with that American with the ridiculous name?”   
Gaby chuckled but started to eat. She didn’t cringe so Illya took that as a good sign. “Napoleon. His name is Napoleon.” She explained. “And it was wonderful. He made me pancakes and got me a day ticket to West Berlin. We went to the cinema.” She explained.  
Illya grunted, forehead in wrinkles.   
Gaby stopped her fork halfway to her mouth. “I am not trying to flee or anything.” She assured him quickly. “Just enjoying the day, you know?”  
“Yeah, yeah.” Illya said distractedly. He was still fuming over the fact that Gaby was raving about what Napoleon had done again.   
He could not let this shame sit on him.

(IV.)  
So what Illya did was buy clothes for her. She came home in new clothes but found more delight in the one’s Illya had chosen. He preened at that. He knew from whom the other clothes were after all. Since she liked the first outfit he had put together for her he went to the same shop but this time he felt a presence linger behind him like he was casting a second shadow. Internally, he rolled his eyes.  
Slipping into a back alley he waited until he passed. Shooting a hand out from behind the corner he pulled him in the dirty backstreet.   
“Care to explain, what you are doing here?” Illya hissed.  
Napoleon smiled brightly. “Enjoying your beautiful city. No need to kidnap an innocent pedestrian, Peril.”   
Illya huffed. “You know, she liked my clothes better.” He stated and crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
“Oh, I think we all know that Gaby wouldn’t be so mean to lie to your face.”   
“She didn’t.” Illya snarled.  
“Alright. Whatever makes you sleep at night.” Napoleon plastered an innocent smile on his face.   
“Stop following me.” Illya took a step closer, now positively looming over Napoleon.  
“You should’ve taken this as a compliment, Peril.” Napoleon remarked and brushed a hand down Illya’s side before taking a step back, spreading his arms to show his harmlessness. “But alright, I don’t want to hurt your sensibilities.” He winked before vanishing.  
Illya growled but was pleased when he noticed Napoleon really wasn’t following him anymore.   
It was only when he carried his carefully chosen outfit for Gaby to the cash register that he realised he didn’t have his wallet anymore… Damn this American thief! Begrudgingly, he was forced to leave the clothes behind.

When Napoleon turned up at their door the next time, Illya practically flew to open it. Napoleon blinked in confusion for a moment, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.  
“Give me back my wallet!” He yelled with a thunderous expression on his face.  
“Woah!” Napoleon lifted his hands and took a step back. “Calm down, Peril. You are going to scare Gaby shitless.”  
“Believe me, she can handle herself.” Illya replied.  
“Where is she anyway?” Napoleon asked trying to peek into the flat.  
“Don’t change topic! Where is my wallet?!”  
“Oh! Now I remember. It must have fallen out of your pocket. I picked it up and kept it since I knew we would see each other again.” He pulled it out of his pocket. “Sorry, I had to borrow some change for the flowers, I’m afraid. I had forgotten mine. So sorry.” With a fake apologetic smile he pushed past Illya into the flat and called out for Gaby.  
Illya stayed at the door opening his wallet. His papers were still there but the 600 mark he had taken to buy Gaby clothes were all gone.   
He turned to follow the American. “Where is the money?” He asked this time keeping his voice down since Gaby was only in the next room and the walls were thin.   
“Peril, please. I would prefer for us all if you didn’t throw a tantrum.” He stepped closer also speaking in a hushed voice. He seemed immensely out of place in this rundown apartment with his impeccable suit and gelled hair. For a moment, Illya is distracted by a cloud of expensive cologne crawling into his nose so he nearly missed Napoleon’s statement. “After all, that should be possible for the KGB’s best.”  
Illya’s eyes immediately snapped up to Napoleon’s. “Keep your mouth shut!” Illya threatened lowly.  
“Nobody has to know, my dear Peril.” Napoleon placed a companionable hand on Illya’s shoulder which was promptly slapped away.  
“I am just saying. Don’t stand in my way and we are good.” Napoleon hissed and his usually friendly demeanour which was all masks and bright smiles revealed a dangerous, dangerous expression for once.  
“Napoleon? Are you ready to go?” Gaby asked confused from the doorway.  
Napoleon spun around, suddenly all wide smiles again. “Of course, darling. Just talked about the right way to prepare borscht.” He winked towards Illya.

When Napoleon and Gaby were outside, Illya picked up his communication gear and ordered information about Napoleon Solo. Then he tuned in to the bugs he had planted on Napoleon.

“You know how to cook borscht?” Gaby asked surprised.  
“I am a man of many talents.” Napoleon replied flirtatious.  
There was a numb sound. Gaby had probably slapped his arm. “You could cook it for us. I am sure Illya would appreciate it. Being stranded here and all.”  
“I am not taking him to my flat. He’s screaming Russian with every damn inch of his.” Napoleon argued and Illya wanted to let out a relieved breath.   
Gaby chuckled. “Fine. You can use my kitchen, can’t you? I mean I don’t have all these fancy tools but consider it a challenge. Please. For me.”   
Illya felt a headache make itself known in his temples. It was just one dinner. How bad could it really be?

 

How bad this really could be, Illya had to experience on Saturday night. Napoleon came over, bag full of ingredients and pots and pans. God only knew what he told the border control this time. Illya rolled his eyes and stayed firmly seated with his book on the living room couch. Nonetheless, he picked up on the soft murmur of voices in the kitchen, the occasional giggle from Gaby and music playing.   
Illya kept his position until it was entirely necessary to give it up to eat. He planned to insult Napoleon’s food in as many ways as possible. Who did the American think he was to pride himself on being able to cook proper borscht?  
Gaby took a spoonful and instantly started raving about Napoleon’s cooking qualities. “But I have to admit, Illya is good at doing the laundry for me.” She smiled triumphantly. While Gaby worked in the garage on her beloved cars Illya took care of the household. He just hoped Oleg would never hear of this.   
Resigned, he took his spoon and gathered some of Napoleon’s borscht on it. It looked about right, he had to admit that and it smelled…  
“Illya, darling, dinner is ready! Papa is home, too. Will you come help me with the table?”  
Illya paused. A memory he had nearly forgotten of a better time with his family. Warmth and home. He risked a glance at Napoleon who was engaged in a conversation with Gaby. How dare him crawl under Illya’s skin like that? Devil, trickster… He thought and finally started eating. It was like coming home so he kept his mouth carefully shut and helped himself to a second portion. When Napoleon looked like he wanted to comment on it, Illya glared him into silence.

Napoleon stayed, watching as Illya and Gaby did the dishes. Easy conversation flowed between them and soft music played. Napoleon had brought wine that he was enjoying now. Illya felt too tall and stiff to have a right to be here.  
When they were done Gaby and Napoleon settled on the couch and Illya stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. He needed a moment to cool his head. This evening had progressed far different than from what he had thought.   
Inside, Gaby swirled the drink in her glass. “I think he needed that.” She said lost in thought.  
“Needed what?” Napoleon asked. “A somewhat decent helping of borscht?”  
“Ah shush.” Gaby kicked his shin. “You know that is not what I mean. Did you see his face?”  
“No. I am surprised that you did.” Napoleon frowned.  
Gaby raised an eyebrow perhaps meaning What did you expect of me? “I think it reminded him of home. Of something he may have forgotten otherwise.” She mused.  
Napoleon hummed but didn’t comment on it. They heard the door open and Illya’s heavy steps in the hallway. Another door sounded. He must have gone into his room.

Illya sighed and got his equipment out. He was still waiting for a message from Moscow about Napoleon. He got his radio out, put his earphones on and held pencil and notebook ready. When the beebs of the morse code sounded he started scribbling his transcription.   
N-A-P-O-L-E-O-N--S-O-L-O--I-S--C-I-A

Illya stared down at the paper in shock. So, he is a CIA agent. He didn’t know how to feel about this. He knew he was after Gaby. But for what? Did they want to instrumentalise her? There was the worry for Gaby since he could hardly guess the motives the agent had.   
He quickly stored away his equipment. Suddenly the thought of leaving Gaby alone with him was unbearable.

He hurried into the living room, all kinds of horrible images flashing behind his eyes. He found them both curled on the couch, drunk beyond the point of tipsiness. He leant into the doorway and thought, this can’t be a deadly agent. Napoleon, slouched on the couch, lazy smile on his face, waved him closer.  
“Come on, you haven’t had anything to drink yet. That is not fair. You are Russian. You should be drunk all the time.” He narrowed his eyes at him and gestured into his direction.  
Drunk Napoleon’s movements were more sluggish, Illya noticed. He was intense, demanding the attention of the entire room like when he was sober. But now his eyes seemed… More alive in a way. His cheeks had taken onto a slight blush.   
Napoleon blinked like he was trying to remember what he had wanted to say. “Or can’t you hold your liquor?” He asked with a growing triumphant smile.  
Illya frowned and walked over lifting one of the bottles, which contained cheap liquor. “I can lift and hold liquor quite well.”  
Napoleon and Gaby both burst out laughing. “Illya! It means to act normally even if you have drunken a shitload of alcohol!” Gaby explained still gasping for breath.  
“Oh.” Illya frowned. “I can do that too.” He unscrewed the cap of the bottle.  
“Stop!” Gaby yelled. “We will do this properly if we are going to do this.” She stood up and got two shot glasses and filled them.   
Illya sat on the armchair opposite of the couch.   
“On three.” Gaby said.  
“Wait, I have much more alcohol in my system already!” Napoleon complained.  
“Don’t be a pussy, Solo.” Gaby snapped.  
Illya felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips.

Napoleon called a break after their tenth shot. They had drunk quickly, eyes narrowed at each other like they were in a physical fight rather than a drinking game.   
“Don’t be a pussy, Solo.” Illya reflected back at him and giggled at his annoyed face.  
“You liked that one, didn’t you?” Napoleon snarled and leaned back. Now his cheeks were properly flushed, Illya thought.  
“I did.” He answered with a satisfied smile.  
“Boys!” Gaby announced loudly before they really could start fighting. She stumbled over to the radio and turned the volume up. “It’s time to dance! Who will be the first?”  
“I don’t dance!” Illya replied and crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
“Bore. Napoleon?” She turned to the American.  
Napoleon sighed but smiled. “Everything for you, my Lady. Excuse my clumsy feet.” He put an arm around her middle and took her hand starting to sway to the music. “I have been forced to drink too much by a fellow gentleman who shall remain unnamed.” He hiccuped and Gaby giggled.   
Illya watched for a moment how Napoleon twirled her in the limited space of Gaby’s flat. He was happy for Gaby. She seemed to enjoy the attention. Napoleon’s precise steps despite his drunkenness fascinated him though. Illya had a hard time going through the motions when he was sober. He hadn’t been lying before.  
“Illya! Now it’s your turn!” Gaby exclaimed and tugged him out of the armchair. For such a small girl she was freakishly strong.  
“No, really. This is not a good idea.” He complained looking over to Napoleon perhaps for help but finding only an amused twinkle in his eyes.  
Gaby took his hands and started to sway to the beat. “Can’t you or don’t you want to?” She asked as she lifted his arm and twirled under his arm, sending her skirt flying.  
“We’ll call it both.” He answered.  
Napoleon huffed. “Is this true? Did they raise you in the Siberian forest?”   
Illya’s finger twitched and his gaze snapped to the American who apparently took it as a challenge.  
“We can’t have that now. Did you watch how I danced with Gaby earlier?” He asked coming closer.  
Illya’s expression had darkened but he nodded. Why was that American so damn irritating?  
“Kinky.” Napoleon mumbled under his breath.  
“What?”  
“Nevermind. Put your hand where I did.” Napoleon ordered.  
Illya collected himself and stepped closer planning to put his arm elegantly around Gaby to let his hand rest on the small of her back. He missed his goal a little though because what he could feel under his hand there was definitely an ass.  
Gaby yelped and smacked him. “Watch out, Kuryakin boy!”  
“Ouch.” Illya frowned and moved his jaws. Had he mentioned she was strong?  
Napoleon whistled and laughed. “That’s not charming. You can’t treat a lady like that.” He pointed out and stepped up to where Gaby had stood. “Let me protect Gaby from your horrible manners.”  
Illya’s eyes widened. “But you can’t- You are not leading.”  
Napoleon smiled smugly. “Believe me, Peril, I am a man of many talents. Now put your hand on my back. On my BACK, even though I am not a maiden.”  
Illya was very careful this time. Maybe he then did sometimes step on Napoleon’s toes deliberately but really he didn’t have to try hard.   
Napoleon was having a hard time but despite everything he managed to teach Illya some movements.   
They were both out of breath when they were done because of the sometimes violent struggling they had. Illya wanting to force his (wrong) moves on Napoleon because he was leading! And Napoleon was trying to correct his moves by leading him from his position. Let’s be honest it didn’t only look like a fight. It was one.

Another round of drinking followed which left everyone properly pissed. Nobody cared who’d won in the end. Gaby declared she had to get up early for work tomorrow and nearly fell and hit her head on the way to her bedroom. This was Illya’s cue to stand up and help her. Napoleon certainly wasn’t able to handle himself. The Russian helped her stumble into her room and made sure she was tugged in for the night. When he carefully closed the door behind him he was met by a slyly grinning Napoleon who could hardly stand upright.  
“Peril-” Hiccup. “Tugging in the ladies at night?” Hiccup. “Naughty boy.” Napoleon attempted to roll his eyes but it must have sent his balance off as he scrambled to hold onto something which happened to be some kind of tea set. It also happened to tumble down to the floor where it shattered into a thousand pieces.  
“Shit.” Napoleon muttered and stared down at the mess in defeat. “I think I should go to bed.”  
Illya huffed. He would clean this up tomorrow. Preferably before Gaby got up.   
“Yes. As you said. Peril brings ladies to bed tonight. Come on, Cowboy. Through this door.” He took his arm and gestured to the door to the guest room.  
“What did you just call me?” The American asked but went along with the orders.  
Illya decided to be grateful for that. Napoleon was even drunker than Gaby and he had to maneuver him down on bed slowly. “Your shoes, Cowboy.” He pointed out. Gaby had just kicked hers off with a groan. It didn’t seem like Napoleon was going to do the same. Illya sighed and bent down. Untying the laces was too much of a hassle so under Napoleon’s protests he just pulled them off like that somehow.   
“Have you any idea what those cost?” He asked.  
“No, and I don’t care either.” Illya pushed him over and threw the blanket over him. Then he got rid of his turtleneck and pants before slipping in beside Napoleon. “Scoot over and don’t hog blankets!” He warned grumpily before settling in. He was asleep within the minute.

Illya woke with a groan. His head hurt and there was loud music coming from somewhere. He shivered as a cold air swept through the window and he realised he was missing his blanket. Turning he discovered Napoleon had taken over his blanket. He had pulled it up under his nose and was completely tangled in it. He was also softly snoring. His hair products had failed him so there was a mob of dark curls fanning his head. Illya wondered why he would want to hide them. Not like it was any of his business.   
Groaning he got up and stumbled into the kitchen. There the noise of the music was almost unbearable. Illya managed to find the radio and turn it off. “How-” He started to talk but then found it too exhausting to stick a sentence together. “Chop shop girl. Just how?” He asked and fell on one of the chairs.   
“Not everyone can be such light weights like you two. Speaking off, where is our delicate princess?” She asked and settled a fresh roll she got from the bakery down in front of Illya.   
“Sleeping. Hogged all the blankets.” Illya complained and pushed the plate with the roll away. Instead, he took his coffee. Taking a sip he leant back with a groan. Only now he noticed her raised eyebrow. “What?” He asked.  
“I am just surprised.” She said and sat on the end of the table. Still it was inevitable that their knees brushed under the table.   
Illya shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I let him share with me? He is a man. He hardly has anything that I haven’t seen before. Besides, in training we had to share beds all the time.” He had not told Gaby that he was KGB, of course. She only knew vague details. He had told her he’d had military training but never got called in. It would hardly be beneficial for their relationship if he invented a story about how he had served in the war. She surely would not consider it heroic. Even Illya was aware of the stories about Russian soldiers going around and simply taking what they wanted.

“Well, clearly you haven’t seen me then, Peril. I am sure I could surprise you.” Napoleon still sounded sleep drunken. Gaby and Illya looked up to where he stood in the doorway, blanket lazily slung around his waist and holding it up with one hand. His hair was a curly mess and it didn’t help when he ran a hand through it.   
“Do you want to eat something?” Gaby asked and turned to grab the bag with the still warm rolls from the counter.   
“Coffee is fine.” Napoleon said and when he walked over to grab Illya’s mug out of his hands he is too dumbstruck to even say anything because how was it possible for anyone to move so gracefully with nothing but a blanket around their hips?  
Gaby snickered but refused to tell them what was so funny. 

(V.)  
Napoleon had left eventually hugging Gaby briefly and with a nod in Illya’s direction.  
In the following weeks he didn’t show up again. Instead, Illya had to watch Gaby vanish often. She refused to tell him where she went so he figured they must have found a way for Gaby to visit Napoleon rather than him picking her up and taking her out to some fancy place or another. It also meant their relationship had progressed to a different state.   
Illya sat alone at the kitchen table when he realised this and was surprised to find it only left a dull ache. Sure, he had competed with Napoleon over Gaby. But now it hurts more to be excluded by people he had come to consider his friends somehow. He told himself they were only trying to be tactful. Didn’t they see it hurt far more to sit here all by himself and wonder when Gaby was coming home today? He shoved the plate away without having eaten anything and paced the flat. It was strange for her not to be home before midnight. When she planned to stay away she usually told Illya. In other words, the Russian was sick with worry. He had no idea where the American lived but he did have a tracker in one of his shoes. He would hardly be the KGB’s best otherwise.

Illya got Gaby’s favourite pastries and, on a whim, flowers before picking up faked papers to get over the wall. Another favour gone. He followed the signals to an ordinary house. A typical safehouse. Illya had been trained to recognise one when he saw one. He decided to ring the bell. Especially in case he was interrupting things.   
“Yes?” A Napoleon in a bathrobe opened the door. CIA agent? Illya at once was ready to question it until he realised there must be a gun lying on the table out of sight. “Illya? What are you doing here?” Napoleon asked confused looking the street up and down before closing the door behind Illya. Only now did he take the Russian in. “Please, I am flattered but those wouldn’t have been necessary.” Napoleon takes the small bouquet of roses and buried his nose in it for a moment, inhaling deeply. The action made a curl fall into his face.  
“Is Gaby here?” He pressed out, his chest feeling too tight.  
“Oh.” Napoleon’s expression sobered. “No, she isn’t. Why isn’t she in your little flat?” He asked and flaunted off leaving Illya to follow him.  
“Would I be here if it was the case?” Illya grumbled.   
Napoleon got a vase and stubbornly filled it with water. Apparently, he had decided to keep them for himself after all. “It’s the middle of the night.”  
“Oh now I see why you are the CIA’s best.” Illya snarled at the obvious statement and was halfway satisfied when Napoleon whipped around.  
“You know?”  
“You think very lowly of the KGB.” Illya pointed out and opened the bag with the pastries and began devouring them himself.  
“So this is how it is then.” Napoleon realised.  
“What are you going to do about it?” Illya asked mouth full but watching the American closely.  
“Well, technically I have already done something by not doing anything these past few weeks.” He pointed out and stole a pastry out of the bag.  
“What do you mean? Wasn’t she here?” Illya asked confused.  
“Not once. Really, what kind of boyfriend are you?” Napoleon accused him.  
“I am not her boyfriend. I thought you two-” Illya gestured.  
Napoleon leaning against the kitchen table smiled but shook his head. “Can’t say I haven’t tried. But after I walked into your kitchen practically naked and she didn’t look twice I figured I had tried hard. Hell, I guess I only stuck around to prove you something.”  
“Oh.” Illya stood dumbfounded once again.  
“Yeah. I usually understand a no when I hear one. Yet I invested favour after favour in our little chop shop girl.” He smiled. “I don’t regret it but it’s time to return to real life. I am leaving for New York tomorrow.” He explained and pushed away from the table.  
“Oh.” Illya said again. Napoleon was right, it was like the last two months were part of a big dream and now he could feel the sun poking his nose, ready to wake him.   
“It’s been nice, Illya, although I rather not tell my superiors that I have met a nice Russian.” Napoleon flashed him a smile so bright and honest Illya felt blinded. “I am afraid their patriotic balls would fall off.” He snickered and met Illya’s gaze. “Don’t look so shocked, Teddy B. Come here.” He stepped up to him and wrapped him in a hug. “I hope we don’t see each other again.” He whispered before he let go.  
For a moment Illya is stung but then he understood. Seeing each other again would mean meeting in the field and certainly death orders from superiors. His hands come to rest on Napoleon’s shoulder blades and for a precious moment they hold each other.   
They drew apart slowly. The rivalry that has always been there in one way or another had disappeared for the moment. Illya didn’t know what to say. What held them together now? What connected them without Gaby?   
“I should go.” He pointed out wiping his hands on his pants. They suddenly felt sweaty.   
“Yeah, it’s late. Will you be okay going back?” Napoleon asked.  
“As a Russian it should be easier to get in than to get out.” He smiled.  
“Yeah. Right.” Napoleon stuck his hands into the pockets of his bathrobe.  
Illya had never seen Napoleon looking out of place but now it was the only word he could find to describe him. It made him feel awful and made him leave in the end. The air is cold when he stepped outside and the door closing behind him felt too final. He went home anyway.

Illya had gone to bed and stood up several hours later convincing himself it was a totally normal day. He knew somewhere at the other end of the city Napoleon was boarding a plane and even though it wasn’t indifferent to him, it was something he would deal with. Napoleon was right, should they see each other again it would most certainly end with one of them dead. He vowed to replaced the cutlery that bent under his will at breakfast this morning.  
He straightened the tablecloth trying to cover up the dent on the tabletop when he heard a hasty knock at the door. Confused he went to answer it and was met with an out-of-breath Napoleon. “I have picked up a tail. Accidentally.” He panted and pushed past Illya into the flat.  
The Russian frowned. “Who?” He asked.  
“KGB.” Napoleon replied distracted with trying to find a place to hide.  
“I am KGB.” Illya answered following the American who finally turned to face him.  
“Exactly.” He said like it would explain everything. When Illya obviously didn’t understand he added, “They will hardly expect their best agent to hide an American, will they? The question is… where lies your loyalty?”  
Illya’s expression darkened as he realised what Napoleon was doing. He was making him choose. “Cowboy, you know I can’t do this.” He growled.  
“Well…” Napoleon opened the doors to Illya’s closet. “I am afraid you will have to.” He grinned and closed the doors after he’d climbed inside, nestled in Illya’s dirty laundry that had collected at the bottom.  
Not a second too soon because then another sharp knock sounded from the door and a harsh voice calling to be let in and claiming to be KGB. Illya opened abruptly.   
“We are looking for an American. Please, let us in, to confirm he hasn’t taken shelter here.” The man said in Russian.  
It wasn’t a request so Illya quickly stomped on his foot when he wanted to push past him. “Illya Kuryakin. KGB. I would like for you to back off. If anything is in this flat that doesn’t belong here it is surely not something for your level of security clearance.” He spat.  
“Kuryakin? The traitor’s son.” The man said and revealed his teeth but took a step back. The stories about Illya’s rage must have also spread. “Fine. I will report to Moscow that you were unwilling to answer a simple request.”  
“You care for your number of bones to remain the same don’t you?” Illya growled. “I will walk out of Siberia if you say a single word.” He hissed before closing the door. He would report make anyway but Illya could play it off as the agent provoking him.   
“Smooth, Peril.” Napoleon said, walking out of his bedroom. Even though he was clearly teasing his expression was soft. He had not been sure what Illya would do.  
“I would be thankful if I were you.” Illya pointed out.  
“I am.” Napoleon stepped closer to him and got on his tiptoes. “Thank you.” He whispered and kissed Illya’s cheek softly.   
Illya could feel him wanting to pull away and stopped him with his hands on his hips. “Cowboy, I-”  
“Really?” Napoleon settled his hands on Illya’s shoulders but didn’t take his eyes off his face. “You know this is incredibly cheesy? Like incredibly so? There is this East German girl who charms a Russian KGB agent and an American CIA agent and commands them around all the time. You did her freaking laundry.” He pointed out.  
Illya can’t help but answer Napoleon’s stupid smile with his own. “You drove a fucking red Shelby over the heaviest guarded border.”   
Napoleon shrugged. “She was pretty good. Convincing too. But in the end, the Russian and the American fall for each other.” He leant up as Illya leant down and their foreheads met. “In the middle of the Cold War.”  
“You are right. Is cheesy.” Illya said and shut him up by finally, finally kissing him.   
For a long time nobody said anything. Instead they communicated with their mouths. Illya pushed Napoleon back into the kitchen and in the end settled him on the table. They both groan at the impact. But there was another sound. They look at each other confused until Illya pulled him up and drawn the tablecloth away. A secret drawer had unlocked. And it was full of spy equipment.  
“Considering your face this is not yours.” Napoleon stated.  
The door opened. Gaby must be back. She was chatting idly with somebody else. “Illya. Napoleon. Good you’re both here…” She looked from them to the table and back. “Oh you found out.” She stated and almost sounded indifferent.  
“Took them long enough.” An older man pushed into the small room of the kitchen. “Gentleman, I am Alexander Waverly. Pleasure to finally meet you two in person.”  
Illya stepped closer to Napoleon unsure whether this was a threatening situation or not. “And which organisation do you work for?” He snarled.  
“See, I am currently working on building a new one. An international one. And Gaby here informed me she has an American and a Russian agent at her hands who would work splendidly together. She didn’t say quite how well.” Waverly extended the tip of his umbrella and tugged the collar of Napoleon’s down a little which he had hastily drawn up when they had entered to reveal the fresh red bites that Illya had left. They both blushed slightly. “But I am confident this is worth giving it a try.” He smiled.  
Napoleon tugged his collar back up. “So what’s that organisation called?”  
“UNCLE.”  
They both knew it was their only chance not to end up with a raised gun between them. Hell, they still might but for now they had something like hope. Behind their back Illya grabbed Napoleon’s hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. Napoleon squeezed back knowing the Russian needed it as well. For their future, spend together.

FIN.


End file.
